


Repent at Leisure

by Courtney621



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: Angst, F/M, bleaker than i usually take my austen tbh, my blatant anti-frank bias is showing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26911258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Courtney621/pseuds/Courtney621
Summary: Mrs. Jane Churchill regrets.
Relationships: Frank Churchill/Jane Fairfax
Comments: 10
Kudos: 46





	Repent at Leisure

Jane Churchill’s health had never been strong and she was well accustomed to long stretches of infirmity. Even as a child, she had spent weeks at a time in bed, fussed over by nurses and fretted about by guardians. 

To be resting quietly in her bedchamber, then, was not a new sensation, though she was not used to doing it in a mostly empty house. Frank was in town and the children had been sent away to Highbury, to be looked after by Mr. and Mrs. Weston. Jane could occasionally hear the footsteps or voice of one of the servants, but they, too, were used to her illnesses and tried to be as silent as possible. No one wanted to wake the mistress of Enscombe, not if she had finally been able to drift off to sleep.

But Jane was not sleeping. She was lying awake, wondering grimly if this would be the time when her health finally failed her, and if she had the energy to care much about the answer. It was too quiet in the house. How she wished a maid would come in, at least. She had nothing to distract her from her own thoughts, swirling around darkly with no reprieve. There was nothing to do but to lie here and think about how very disappointing her life had been.

***

Jane Fairfax had been in very low spirits when she first met Frank Churchill. She was facing the loss of a beloved home and the beginning of a new life as a governess, a life that she was not anticipating with pleasure. Her dearest friend, the new Mrs. Dixon, would no longer be her constant companion. Everything would soon be changing, and not, Jane suspected, for the better.

And then fate dropped Frank Churchill into her life, so charming, and handsome, and soon violently in love with her. Their courtship had been a whirlwind. It had felt like a dream, too glorious to be real. Jane had never been in love before and Frank was such an amiable man, and so much more than she could have ever hoped for. She could not have resisted him if she tried. 

To be sure, Jane’s subsequent months in Highbury, hiding both her engagement and her affections, had been difficult, and often exceedingly painful, but it had all ended happily. When they were finally able to marry, Jane felt as if her life was finally beginning. The future was no longer a threat, filled as it had been with meager opportunities at every turn, but something to be optimistic, even joyful about. 

That had been the problem. Jane had been so eager to escape the bleak life ahead of her that she had grasped at the first hand that could pull her out of it. 

*** 

The first few years of their married life had been all felicity and gratification. Even looking back, it was hard to find any warning signs from that time. Jane and Frank had been practically giddy with their own happiness. No couple had ever been as in love as they were. They were young, all of the obstacles in their path had been swept aside, and there were only years and years of contentment spread before them. 

Jane’s health had been unusually good in those years, and they spent their time entirely enthralled by one another. Frank had been determined to show her a life that she had never had before and, therefore, they were never in one place for very long. There was too much to do and see together, now that they had been freed from all of their former secrecy. They had nothing to live for but their own pleasure, and they had not hesitated to seek it enthusiastically. 

Their fortunes changed slightly when Jane was with child. From the beginning, it was a difficult pregnancy. She was again forced into bed more often than not, but Frank was all caring attentiveness. He provided for her every need, and she felt as cherished a wife as ever existed.

Then little Jenny was born.

***

Jane’s fragile health did not improve upon Jenny’s delivery. It had been a blessedly uneventful birth, but Jane’s strength was slow to recover. Neither Frank nor Jane was too worried about this; it was not unexpected and they had no doubt that she would recover in time.

Frank remained devoted, his concern for his wife and daughter evident, and the first weeks of Jenny’s life did little to dispel their previous happiness. Jenny was a beautiful child, and Frank was delighted with his daughter. As the months passed, however, it was soon apparent that Jenny was as fragile as her mother.

 _There_. There is when the cracks had begun to show. 

By little Jenny’s first birthday, Frank had found himself with a wife who was still bedridden and a child who squalled day and night. It was not the life he had pictured for himself. It had none of the romance of a secret engagement, and none of the adventure of their early marriage, tearing around the country. His life was now consumed by the tedious care of a growing and sickly family. 

***

They had married too young, Jane could see now. Frank had been wholly unprepared for an ordinary, domestic life. He hadn’t thought about the everyday troubles that a wife and child would bring. 

***

Jenny was followed, a few years later, by Catherine, who was just as delicate as her older sister. Jane, who had never fully regained her strength after Jenny’s birth, was even weaker than before. 

Frank was weary of it. He was a young man, full of health and vigor, who had planned on spending these years enjoying himself. Jane could feel his resentment growing. He no longer visited her in her room for hours at a time, keeping her company and trying to amuse her. He left for long trips to London, “on business,” often staying away for weeks.

Jane mended very slowly, but Jenny and Catherine were her great joys in those years. They kept her from being crushed beneath the bitterness that was threatening to overtake her.

***

_She was his aunt all over again._

The thought had horrified Jane, the first time it had run through her mind, and yet it was not easily dispelled. He had suffered under his aunt’s ill health, real or imagined, for so long, and now he was saddled with a frail wife. _How he must despise me._

“Perhaps it is the curse of being Mrs. Churchill,” she had said, trying and failing to sound lighthearted.

She wanted Frank to reject this, to speak words of reassurance, and comfort, and love.

Instead, he sat in stony silence.

***

The worst of it, Jane thought, was that she felt guilty about her own distress. She tried to tell herself that it could be so much worse; she _knew_ it could be so much worse. Frank was not a deliberately cruel man. But he was negligent and inattentive, and it hurt all the same. 

And if she was being honest with herself, hadn’t he always been thoughtless? Hadn’t her time in Highbury, hiding their engagement, been abundant proof of that? He had never put her first. He had never thought of her feelings or comfort. He had always been utterly, utterly self-involved, so inconsiderate in so many ways. When things were good, she had thought of him as lively and playful, and she had rejoiced in a temperament so much brighter than her own. But she had known, even then, this other side of him. She had chosen to ignore it. She had not wanted to think of how it might affect her future.

And now she was living with the consequences.

She could not get out.

***

Jane had enjoyed another spell of good health when Catherine was about two, and for a brief time, there seemed to be a return to those blissful early years of their marriage. Jenny and Catherine had started to thrive, Jane no longer looked so tired and haggard, and Frank seemed, for the moment, to be finally growing into his role as a husband and father. He no longer chafed at the bonds tying him to Enscombe. A healthy family was not a burden; he took great pleasure in doting on the girls and spending time with Jane. All of his neglect vanished. He was devoted to her once more.

Jane became pregnant again, and little Francis was born, much stronger than his older sisters. Jane suffered none of her usual weakness, and their family of five seemed as comfortable and content as they could wish to be. The girls, thank heaven, continued to grow stronger as they aged, and Francis already had a sunny, bubbly disposition. The Churchill family was finally a happy one.

***

But her ill health returned, as it always did, and with it came a return of Frank’s restlessness and displeasure. Her looks were fading, she knew; she was gaunt and drawn, exhausted by sickness and the oppressiveness of Frank’s low spirits. 

Jane felt completely hopeless. Nothing she did seemed to make him happy. She could not reach back to the Frank she had met in Weymouth. 

She was just so _tired_.

***

About a year ago, they had made a visit to Highbury. It had been some time since they had been there last, as Frank was always so reluctant to go. _Well, he never_ could _be bothered_ , she thought, rather viciously. _His father had never been enough of an inducement. When had he ever had any sort of proper attachment to his family?_

It was to be a short, obligatory visit; hardly enough time to see all of their family and acquaintances. Jane felt their rudeness. The Westons were always so pleased to see them; it was wrong not to stay longer. And her aunt, so lonely now with Jane’s grandmother gone, deserved more attention. Jane could have screamed with the frustration of it. 

She couldn’t leave without visiting the Knightleys. 

“I passed them yesterday, while you were visiting your aunt,” Frank argued. “They are barely even acquaintances now, Jane. There is no need to call on them.”

“It will be _inexcusably_ rude if we do not!”

Frank insisted that he was busy, that he was spending the day with his father, and though Jane would not argue with Mr. Weston’s superior claim to Frank’s attention, she refused to slight the Knightleys. She and the children went alone. 

“My dear Jane!” exclaimed Emma Knightley. “It has been too long!”

To Emma’s very great credit, she had betrayed little shock at Jane’s altered appearance. Jane had seen Emma’s alarm for just a moment before she disguised it with all of the propriety of an experienced hostess.

Emma was as lovely as ever, and fairly glowed with happiness. It was so good to see her again. They had never been close as children or young women, but they had become frequent correspondents since their marriages, and Emma was a reminder of - well, Jane couldn’t call it a _happier_ time (it had been stressful, and trying, and often miserable), but it had been the time just _before_ the happiest time in her life, and it was, in a perverse way, comforting to recall the echo of it.

“You have beautiful children, Jane. And so well behaved!”

Jenny, Catherine, and Francis had become very shy as they were introduced to this stranger. The girls curtseyed politely, but Francis buried his face in his mother’s skirts.

A rambunctious pair of boys ran by, followed by their harassed-looking nurse.

“I do not know whether it is worth trying to keep George and Henry still long enough to introduce you.” Emma smiled after them, exasperated but fond. “Would your children like to join them? I am sure the boys would be happy to play.”

“We cannot stay long,” said Jane apologetically. 

Emma was all welcoming grace, smoothing over the awkwardness of the short visit with offers of tea for Jane and cake for the children. George Knightley arrived shortly afterward, greeting Jane and the children warmly, and Emma with so much evident affection that it made Jane ache. She felt Mr. Knightley’s concerned gaze and avoided it by fussing over Francis.

Jane had always been rather envious of Emma. Emma had always been so sure of herself, so at ease in every situation. She was good-humored, and lovely, and charming. She had never had to work very hard for anything. She was not nearly as accomplished as Jane was, and it had never mattered. Emma had always been adored, by her father, her sister, her neighbors, her husband. Jane did not resent it, precisely, but she did wish that she had had half of Emma’s luck.

After a quarter of an hour, Jane stood to leave. 

“Perhaps we will see you again soon,” said Emma.

“I am afraid not,” said Jane. “We will be off tomorrow morning.”

“Let us hope your next visit to Highbury will be a longer one, then,” said Emma. “It is always so good to see you.”

Jane thanked her and departed, trying not to notice the obvious pity of the Knightleys.

***

Jane dozed off and dreamed of better times in Highbury. They had not all been painful. She dreamed of stealing quiet moments with Frank, of the quick glances they had shared when no one was looking. She dreamed of the pianoforte. She dreamed of singing with him at the Coles’ and dancing with him at the Crown Inn. She dreamed of sneaking away to the post office, and the secret glow of happiness that came with receiving a letter from him; the way she would savor his words, glorying in every line he wrote.

***

And then she woke, alone again. She wondered if the children had gotten the chance to play with the Knightley boys, although Emma had just been delivered of a daughter and it was likely that they had not seen the Knightleys at all. 

They would be well cared for by the Westons, and the Weston girls were companions enough. 

Jane hoped she would be able to visit Highbury again.

A maid brought in the post and Jane recognized Frank’s hand. Unbidden and unwelcome, a small shoot of hope sprang up inside of her. Perhaps he was coming home. Perhaps they could make things right once more.

She opened the letter with shaky hands, read it quickly, and set it aside. She should not expect him for another week at least. He was busier than he had foreseen, but he was sure that she would understand. He hoped she was feeling better.

Jane closed her eyes and tried, once more, to sleep.


End file.
